Y’all . . . Hope. It’s a crazy thing. The last few days I’ve felt this little stream of hope bubbling up in my heart. Not a big, loud, dance-around-hope; but a quiet, sweet hope that finds itself as a tear escaping my eye ever so often. It’s a weird time to feel hope welling within. It’s been a hard year; not unbearable, but hard with a lot of loss and pain. We got to bring home Isaiah, which was beautiful and crazy, only to hear that he has a serious, incurable heart condition. And as we’ve dug in and worked with doctors, we’ve learned that what he has is one of a kind so they can give us zero idea of what his prognosis might be. So we are walking a daily unknown at the same time we are walking through the daily loss and joy of adoption. Our family in Florida experienced a deep and unexpected loss. We are in a global pandemic full of unknowns, fears, and losses and witnessing people endure sickness and pain alone. I am a big feeler and extrovert on a totally unprecedented quarantine. Everyone is feeling the unknown of finances and expected normalcy returning. It’s just a really weird, hard time. Yet even still . . . This hope.

I wonder if this is how Mary, and the disciples felt on that dark Saturday. There was really no reason to hope. They just witnessed Judah betray Jesus and Jesus be questioned and accused. They just watched their beloved Lord and Teacher be beaten, killed, and buried. They watched many of his friends scatter and deny Him. There was darkness and loss over the land. They had yet to fully understand what Jesus came to do. Yet even still . . . Hope? Perhaps beneath their weary hearts and red eyes, a tiny hope was fighting its way up. What if EVERYTHING He said was true? What would that mean?

And then, Sunday came. Mary Magdalene went to the tomb to find it empty, the Messiah gone. And then turned around to a stranger, only to hear Him call her by name. Mary Magdalene, once deeply troubled and in bondage, witnessing the Risen Messiah. Because even in the midst of her troubled mind, in the midst of the darkness of the land, in the midst of fears and unknowns, in the midst of loss and grief, even still . . . The tomb was empty and Jesus stood before her, the risen Messiah.

And I realized today, that this slowly rising Hope within me, this tentative but tenacious Hope, was clinging to the truth of Easter. That even in the midst of quarantine, in the midst of loneliness and strange days . . . Even still, He rose from the dead. And perhaps even more so these odd, social distancing days, my heart is finding refuge in this. Because He is once again proving His faithfulness, His goodness, His mercy. That even in THIS He is here. Even in my fears, He is here. Even in my anxieties, He is here. Even in my loneliness, He is here. Even in my grief and loss, He is here. And my heart is quietly rejoicing that He has proven Himself again. And it is finding an even sturdier Hope as I witness His nearness in my life over and over again. Hope doesn’t promise to take away the pain. It doesn’t promise to take away the hurt. Or the loneliness. Or the unknowns. But Hope does promise to be near us always. To never leave us. To hold us up on wings like eagles when our hearts are weary. So that even in the face of these hards times, we can look to the Cross and say Even still . . .